Daughter of a Eunuch, Son of a Pirate
by alenya121
Summary: The title says it. Will's daughter wants to see the seas, Jack's son wonders if a pirate's life is really for him. They meet, they speak, and choas insues. In all this, Jack is his usual coniving self. Kindly R&R! PLEASE READ THE NOTE AND GIVE THOUGHTS!
1. Daughter of a Eunuch, Son of a Pirate

A/N: and again, I veer from harry potter! welcome to my first movie fanfic! yay POTC!! it is a Jack's son/Will's daughter fic but...yeah. no flames saying this has been done. I just want a turn on the plot merry-go-round

so here we go...and I might be changing my penname soon, so don't spaz if this is suddenly written by someone new

Disclaimer: I own the kids. Nothing else. let's leave it at that.

o.O

Chapter 1: Daughter of a Eunuch, Son of a Pirate

Christina Turner sat motionlessly in a rigid wooden chair, a needlepoint hoop sitting serenely on her lap. This, coupled with her modest yet fashionable red dress, painted the perfect picture of a proper 18th century lady. However, a closer look would prove otherwise.

With a surreptitious glance over her shoulder, Christina quickly scooted her chair an inch closer to the window. Her mother was not oblivious; Elizabeth Swann, now Elizabeth Turner, turned from the stove to check on her only daughter. Thankfully, Christina had managed to pick up her sampler and was stitching away innocently. Letting a motherly smile escape, Elizabeth turned back to her own work.

Christina let out a small sigh; she had gotten away with it again. For the past half-hour, she had been trying to move her seat so that she could stare out the window: a much better past time than stitching in her book. Perhaps that was why she was nearly 17 and her sampler was in a shambles. She exhaled again, watching a loose strand of her dark hair fly in her breath. Smiling, she blew again and again, making the lock dance.

"Christina Pearl!" her mother called her down. The named winced and turned, smiling innocently. "How many times must I beg you to work on your needlepoint?"

"Sorry, Mother, but can't I go outside? It's so pleasant and Father's been at the docks all day. The animals haven't been tended to yet," Christina begged, trying her hardest not to whine. Elizabeth sighed.

"Let me see your work." She extended a hand. Christina held out the cloth. Elizabeth clucked her tongue. "At this rate, you'll be stitching on your death bed. You'll never get –– "

"I know," Christina interrupted. "I'll never get a husband if I can't sew. But I can cook, bake, launder, care for animals and children, and all the other skills men look for. And I _can_ sew, Mother. But the animals ––!"

"Fine." Elizabeth gave up, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. A smile of amusement did escape. "Go fritter your life away on men's chores. But don't come crying to me when you're an old maid, forced to spin your life away and dream."

"Thank you, Mother!" Christina kissed her mother and practically skipped out into the sunshine.

"Actually, go pick your father up from the docks!" Elizabeth shouted after. "The Delius should be in by now."

"Yes, Mother," she called back as she inhaled deeply, feeling her corset protest sharply. She hated being indoors; she would never admit it to her mother, but sometimes she wondered what it would be like to be free, like the pirates in her father's stories.

She and her family were well known in town, her father, Will Turner, being one of the best blacksmiths and a respected master of his own ship. His seemed to be the only vessel that didn't run afoul of pirates; her father always said it was because of his and her mother's friendship with the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. The pirate captain and his ghostly ship had fascinated Christina from a young age and they still did. She longed to escape the grasps of womanhood and spend even a day aboard the Black Pearl.

o.O

Ten minutes later, Christina pulled up in her grandfather's carriage, one of her grandfather's servants driving; no matter how much she had bribed the man, he would not let her take the reins. And so, it was slightly disillusioned that she stepped out of the carriage onto the docks.

She admired the romantic, chaotic scene the Port Royal docks painted. Men shouted to one another as ropes and crates flew threw the air, often accompanied by a man. Ships were docked every few feet with more people milling on, in, and around them. Salt stinged the nostrils and seagull calls danced in the ears as Christina searched the men's faces for her father's own.

Suddenly, her view went black; out of habit, her hands flew up, caught the wrists of the incriminating hands, and twirled around, rendering the culprit with out the use of his hands. Her face changed from one of anger and alarm to ecstasy in a matter of seconds as she nearly attacked the man who had placed his hands over her eyes.

"Alex!" she squealed, quite unlike herself. Alex Nusbalm was one of the hands on her father's ship and a longtime family friend. He laughed, his eyes dancing as Christina pulled back from her hug. "Goodness, what are you doing here? I thought you were staying in England this time."

"No, your father convinced me not to. He offered me the position of his second mate!" Alex announced happily. Christina laughed merrily and hugged him again in congratulations. "Besides, I could I ask you the same thing. Isn't it usually frowned upon for a pretty unmarried girl like you to be unescorted on the docks? Too many hungry men to be leering at you."

Christina rolled her eyes. "I was looking for my father. Do you know where he is?"

Alex nodded. "I'll take you to him." He began walking briskly across the wooden floor of the docks. Christina trotted behind, her dress swishing at her feet. She counted the boats absently until a very familiar one graced her view: the Delius.

"Christina?" her father's voice called from the deck. He was with two important-looking men and was going though a stack of papers. However, upon seeing his daughter, he leapt onto the rigging and jumped soundly down beside Christina and Alex. "Darling, what are you doing here?"

"Mother wanted me to surprise you. Grandfather's carriage is waiting," Christina answered. Will's eyes glinted.

"Would your mother agree with that statement?" he asked knowingly. Both he and Alex watched eagerly for the response.

Christina squirmed slightly and glanced to her left. "Maybe not word for word…but she did ask me to pick you up and Grandfather's carriage is waiting just up the road," she pointed.

"Ah, I see you actually let the driver do his job," her father teased. Christina smiled grimly.

"Well, after the trouble I got in last time…" Christina trailed. Will laughed heartily.

"Alex, will you go oversee the last load? I'd better escort Miss Turner home so that she avoids any further trouble." He smiled endearingly at his only daughter. Alex nodded and, with a fleeting goodbye, leapt atop a swinging load of cargo and dropped back onto the Delius. Her father watched him go.

"Before I forget and before we get home, I was told to give you this." Will turned back to Christina and pulled out a handsome pair of daggers. The blades were polished so that the silver glinted in the afternoon sun. The hilt was set with tiny garnets, emeralds, and diamonds, all intertwined in intricate gold vines that twisted the length of the hilt. "The docks are dangerous. If you are to be frequenting them as often as you have lately, you might as well be able to protect yourself."

Christina gripped the handle; it looked somewhat strange in her small hand. She tossed it expertly and it landed with a dull thunk in a post. Will did not have a son. Therefore, as Christina had always been naturally curious, he had taught what had been classified as men's skills: driving horses, caring for animals, and quite a bit of swordfighting.

Her father smiled. "Almost as good as me when I was your age. You're getting better. Now fetch that and hide them. We don't want your mother thinking I'm a bad influence, now do we?" He winked. Christina smiled and tugged the blade out of the wood. One she banded to her right ankle and the other she hid up her left sleeve. She tripped after her father and they headed to the carriage.

o.O

"So who gave you the daggers?" Christina asked once they were inside and on the road.

Will was silent. "Captain Sparrow," he said simply.

Christina's eyes immediately lit; her attention could still be whetted by the pirate's name. "Did he really, Father? Or are you just teasing?" she asked.

"Which do you think?" Her father grinned. Christina considered; either this was true or her father had invented another story on his long voyage. Either way, she was always an eager ear for pirate tales.

"What happened?" she asked breathlessly.

"You know that the Delius is relatively new," Will started. Christina nodded; he had only gotten it a few months ago. "Well, it was about the third week into the voyage and we had already made our first shipment so you can imagine how much goods we had onboard. And, it just so happens that it is in the nature of pirates to sometimes hang around popular ports and see who are the big traders. Lo and behold, land hadn't disappeared but an hour before a massive ship with black sails came soaring up, as if winged, the Jolly Roger proudly flapping in the wind."

"The Black Pearl," she breathed, already into the story.

"Yes. Anyway, my crew was panicking, as all crews do when the Pearl came up on their hull. But I and Alex, whom I have also told the stories to, were pictures of serenity. I ordered Alex to immediately fly the white flag and ordered all the crew to their barracks. I waited for Jack to board and his did so in all his staggering, inebriated glory. He took on look at me and just muttered, 'Bugger'."

Christina smiled wide. She loved when her father would imitate the captain.

"'Nice ship, mate,' he said after that. I nodded. 'Where's yer crew?' he asked. 'Down below, scared out of their wits,' I answered. Jack flashed a dirty, toothy grin. 'Glad to see the Pearl still strikes fear in men's hearts,' he said. 'But apparently not women,' I said. He asked me to explain and I told him about you, about how you were the perfect picture of a lady, but wielded a mean blade…'clone of Elizabeth, eh?' he commented at that…"

Christina smiled again.

"…then he ordered a young man at his side to go fetch something off the Pearl. The boy came back with an ebony wood box with those daggers inside. 'Give your daughter these. I'm sure she can find more use for them than I. I was never adept at throwing. Perhaps we'll meet and she can teach me.'"

"Oh, Father, could I? Could I go on one of your travels and meet Captain Jack?" Christina begged.

"Absolutely not," Will was suddenly stern. "It is one thing for you to be sneaking around the ports here but another entirely for you to be on a ship with all men and go off gallivanting with pirates!"

"You sound like Grandfather," Christina pouted. "What's the point in teaching me swords and daggers if I never get to use them?"

"Sometimes Grandfather is right," her father said. "And the point of learning swordsmanship was to protect you and your mother when I'm not around, not for you to run off with me and chase after pirates. I need you here."

Christina frowned and looked out the carriage window, her finger stroking the blade of her new dagger. She wanted to go meet Jack.

o.O

Tristan Sparrow scaled the riggings of the Black Pearl, watching the Delius meld with the horizon. The ship changed direction sharply, causing the teen to almost go plummeting into the murky blue-grey depths of the ocean. Much, as the illustrious Will Turner had claimed, like the fabled Christina Turner's eyes.

"Tristan!" Jack called from deck. "Quit dallying and secure those sails. I want to get to Rocky Port to intercept their latest shipment of rum. We're running low!"

Tristan smiled and obeyed his father. Like a cat, he ascended further into the heavy rainclouds that were the Pearl's sails. As he retied knots, he reflected on the Turners.

From a young age, Jack Sparrow had told him stories about the Pearl and his adventures with the mutinous Barbossa and fabled Davy Jones. Always, Will Turner and his love Elizabeth Swann had played key parts in these retellings. Finally, after years of curiosity, he had met the real Will Turner when his father accidentally tried to raid his ship. Turner had added a new twist to the stories; Will and Elizabeth had wed and now had a nearly 17-year-old daughter named Christina Pearl.

Apparently, she was the epitome of an Elizabeth-Turner child: she had her mother's beauty and status of a lady as well as her father's talent with a blade. Being nearly 18 himself and a long-time fan of the stories his father had told, this new character had intrigued him greatly, but he could not bring himself to ask questions. Now Will was gone with a gift for his daughter in tow, and question after question buzzed in his mind.

"Tristan! What colors does yonder ship fly? I'll not have you make another blundering mistake like you did with the Delius!" Jack yelled up at him.

"British and its armed and milling with soldiers!" Tristan called back

"Lower the Roger! Quickly, gents!" Jack ordered. The crew jumped at his bark, the skull flying down on its wire. Tristan watched his father in awe. Sometimes it caught up to him just how many men found his cunning and twisted thinking as brilliance; they were perfectly at ease to carry out his every whim. It shocked him how devoted they were to him and someday, to him.

No matter how many people said it, Tristan didn't see his father in himself in the least. Jack could talk to anyone and get him or her to do what he wanted; Tristan was unconfident at best. Jack got out of every predicament, no matter the risk; Tristan never had the guts to do anything that wasn't sure. And Jack seemed flawless; Tristan had been the one that had spotted Will's ship and deemed it worthy of pillaging. No matter how many people tried to reassure him that he would follow in his father's footsteps, there was always a large part of him that disagreed.

When Will spoke of his daughter, Tristan had been shocked to hear her described. He had spent time in countless towns and all the ladies he met were soft-spoken and seemingly fragile. Never had he heard of one so ladylike yet could hold her own in a fair fight. He had looked at his father; Jack's eyes were so bright, Tristan fancied his father was considering Will's daughter as the prodigy child he never had. And when Jack had given the daggers, Tristan could almost see the gears turning in his mind.

Tristan sat low in the nest as the Pearl floated serenely past the British ship. Thankfully, the sails and flag had been lowered before the other captain had intercepted them. The pirate crew waved innocently at the oncoming ship, who hesitantly returned the gesture. Tristan watched them go and sighed.

"What's ailing ye, boy?" Jack asked, popping up beside Tristan, making the latter jump.

"God, Pop!" Tristan seethed, trying to get his heart back to normal.

"Are we past yet?" Jack hissed. Tristan raised himself but barely to check their passing.

"Nearly," Tristan said, settling back. Jack watched him.

"You never answered my question," he said.

"Eh?" Tristan said. "Ah…nothing."

"That's a whole lot of something that you're calling nothing," Jack stated. "You aren't still beating yourself up about Will and the Delius, are ye?"

_Yes_. "No," Tristan fibbed.

"Cuz even I didn't know he got a new ship. His blacksmithing and trade must have really taken off," Jack mulled. "Either that or that Christy managed to steal one with her supposed blade skills, eh?" Tristan smiled grimly. "Hmm…well, I think it's safe for me to get back to deck. Don't kill yourself and hey, maybe Christy isn't as great as her father says. Or she might not exist. Will was a eunuch, after all."

Jack shimmied down the rigging. Tristan watched him go, then stood himself and peered out at the blue-grey sea.

_Christina. Her name is Christina, daughter of a eunuch,_ he thought. _The oddities continue to mount._

o.O

A/N: love it? hate it (hope not!)? drop me a review please and let me know if you want this story continued!! Or else it will sink to Davy Jones' locker of lost stories!! (eery music)


	2. Confrontations

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! (toots horn) yay! I'm proud to say I was the ONLY one in my family to stay awake until midnight! and what was I doing? finishing this chapter and working on my others fics!! i'm so dutiful!! course I stayed up till 2:30 doing so and am now incredibly tired, so forgive any grammer issues. I'll fix them when I'm not so out of it...

Disclaimer: I own the main characters plus anyone you don't recognize. Not Jack, not Will, not Elizabeth, not Gibbs, not Cotton, not Cotton's funny parrot...the list goes on.

oh, and I attempted Spanish in this chapter!! I think I got accents and nitpicky details in the right spots. It's been a few weeks, so don't judge me too harshly if incorrect.

And I dedicate this chapter to Jinxeh (of course I don't hate you silly!!) because she was one of my first reviewers and THE FIRST to send me a long review, complete with very nice criticisms that I took to heart!

there are more responses to reviewers at the end of the chapter. And fyi, I LURVE anonymous reviewers, being one for years before I got my own penname. I accept them and respond to them as much as I do signed reviews!!

Chapter 2: Confrontations

It was Saturday and Christina was wandering the main street of Port Royal with her best friend Isabella Santez, searching for nothing in particular and just enjoying the sunlight.

"Chiquita, mira!" Isabella said, taking down a bolt of printed velvet. Isabella, or Bella as Christina liked to call her, was a native of Spain and looked the part with her long lush dark hair, dark eyes, tan skin and thick accent. "This would be kind on you, no?"

Christina smiled. "You think it would look nice on me?" she corrected gently.

"Of course!" Isabella's tinkling laugh sounded at her slight mistake. She and Christina had an agreement: Isabella would teach Christina Spanish and Christina would better Isabella's English. "Tócalo!"

Christina ran her fingers down the length of the deep chocolate brown velvet marveling at the softness. "Haría un…buen vestido, no?" she struggled slightly.

"Muy bien!" Isabella said. "You could get the fabric."

"You know I can barely finish my samplers. What makes you think I could handle making a dress?" Christina asked, putting the fabric away. "Let's go see what else is in."

The two friends stepped out onto the street. Almost automatically, Alex came running up to them. They greeted him politely, but he was too excited about something and too out of breath to return them.

"Where's your father?" he managed to ask Christina.

"At home, I think. Why? Is there something wrong at the docks?" Christina asked.

"There's…a strange ship trying to dock. The captain's messenger asked to fetch your father. Apparently, he and the captain are friends," Alex called as he began running again. Isabella watched him go, but when she turned, Christina had ran off toward the docks.

"Tina, are you insane?" Isabella said, trotting to keep stride with her brisk companion. "You have no idea who or how dangerous this ship could be. Not to mention the state of the docks. We don't belong there!"

"But aren't you curious?" Isabella said, continuing at her speedy pace. "Besides, they have the courtesy to wait to dock. They can't be too bad. And the docks aren't as bad as you make them out to be."

Grumbling incessantly, Isabella drug her feet the entire way, but followed Christina all the same; curiosity had taken both girls' concentration from shopping.

o.O

Christina stepped onto the docks and immediately knew what ship was causing all the trouble. A great ship, at least as big as her father's own, if not bigger, was sitting still fifty feet from the docks, waiting patiently. It flew no sails and no flag, which had no doubt caused the investigation. Her eyes darted among the faces of the crows for the supposed messenger.

She spotted a man standing slightly apart from the queue at the dock offices, waiting somewhat impatiently. He towered over the majority of the others around him and his skin had a heavy tan about it. He was dressed in a dirty beige shirt and long black pants with heavy boots. His jet-black hair was cut short. This was the messenger, as his boot was tapping impatiently, her arms were crossed and he was casting his eyes over the crowd, obviously looking for something.

She felt Isabella move at her elbow; she had finally caught up. Not bothering to speak to her, she strode off again toward the man, sending Isabella into a rant, half of which was in Spanish. As she approached the man, he gradually turned his attention to her. His eyebrows knitted.

"You aren't Will Turner," he said.

"Certainly not," Christina answered. "But speaking of, what do you need him for?"

"Are you his wife?" the man asked.

"Hardly. You're evading my question," Christina pressed.

"True," he said simply. And he looked away and paid her no more of his time. She waited, but he never looked back. Huffing, she tapped him again. He rolled his eyes and looked down at her. "What, child?"

"'Child'?" Christina chuckled. "You can't be any older than I. And I demand an answer!"

"And how could anything dealing with Will Turner possibly affect you , _woman_?" the man snapped. Christina opened her mouth to retort, but Isabella pulled her arm.

"Callete! Tu papá está aquí," she warned. Christina looked and saw her father and Alex walking just as briskly as she had toward the man. Quickly, Isabella and Christina ducked behind a large stack of crates. Isabella started to leave, but Christina silently bade her stay; she would get her answer one way or another.

"You are?" her father demanded. Christina smiled at her father's bluntness.

"A representative of that ship yonder. We are trying to dock and no one will let us."

"Well, a large ship is rarely able to be docked at this part of the docks. Here, come with me and let's go talk to your captain," her father said. "Alex, stay here."

Christina waited for her father and the rude man to leave before she crept out from hiding. She silently stepped beside Alex, who was studying Will and the representative board the large ship.

"Do you know what ship that is?" she asked suddenly. Alex leapt, his hand already flying to his sword.

"Goodness, Christina! Warn a man!" he breathed heavily. "No, I don't…but there have been rumors…"

"What kind?" Isabella asked.

"Some of the men are saying that's the Pearl, looking for another raid of the city like they did years ago when our parents were our age," Alex whispered. "And some also say that Mr. Turner was invited aboard because he and Mrs. Turner are close friends with the captain."

Christina laughed suddenly. "My parents? Gallivanting with pirates? My father possibly but my mother's too much of a stick in the mud," she said, half lying. The other half of her was desperately hoping the latter of Alex's statement to be true.

"They're just rumors," Alex shrugged. "Well, I'd better get back. Boss is already on my case about dawdling with fine women such as yourselves."

Christina and Isabella smiled at each other and chimed their goodbyes. "We should probably be getting back to town as well," Isabella said. Christina nodded and followed Isabella as she led them away from the sea.

"I hate the docks," Isabella stated once they were back on the streets. Christina smiled and shook her head. Isabella had no sense of danger, of adventure.

o.O

Night fell and Christina found herself lying awake in her bed, thinking and staring at the incessantly shining moon outside her window. Her ears were perked, listening to the creaking floorboards and muffled voices from her parents' room. Finally, all ceased. She turned on her other side, careful not to let the bedsprings creak. All light had been extinguished from under the door; her parents were safely in bed and drifting to peaceful sleep.

Grinning, Christina flung off her bed covers. Where her nightgown should have been was an old outfit of her father's, mended and tailored to suit her. A billowy off-white shirt masked her chest while semi-tight black knickers accented her strong, long legs. White socks were pulled to her knee and her feet were adorned in shiny black boots with a large silver buckle. Now she swept her long hair up and secured it into a ponytail, the end of which she tucked under a modest hat. Careful not to make a sound, she swung out of her open window and landed on the roof below her. From here, she climbed onto a tree branch and, expertly keeping her balance, she walked toward the trunk and continued her decent to solid ground. Quickly, she picked her way toward town. She headed for one of the only lit buildings in the square; the saloon.

It was dark and grimy and full of men, most half drunk. A few hailed her as she came in, calling her Chris. She smiled and nodded. She immediately headed for the bar and address the man behind it.

"Hello, Bert," she said merrily. "Are the rest here yet?" she grabbed a violin case from the back room and set it on the bar.

"Actually," Bert the barkeeper said, wiping out a glass, "Samuel stopped by and said he and Michael weren't going to be able to come in tonight."

Christina froze, her violin half out. "You couldn't have told me this earlier?" she asked bitterly, putting her instrument back and snapping the case closed.

"Well…you were with your father…" he trailed, giving a meaningful look. She nodded; they both knew her real identity and both knew to keep it a secret. "And I was kind of hoping to get some help around the bar tonight. I have to take off and meet Gertrude." His face brightened as he mentioned her name; Gertrude was Bert's girlfriend who lived in the nearby countryside. Christina smiled, knowing both well and how they didn't get to see each other often.

"Well, then what are you doing here? Go get her, stupid!" Christina laughed. Bert smiled thankfully and handed over his apron. She donned it quickly.

"Just make sure no one gets horrifically hammered and destroys anything. And you know my rule on prostitutes," he said, already half out the door.

"Absolutely none, under no circumstances," Christina called.

"Excellent. I told Matthew to come and relieve you in about an hour or so, but we both know how reliable he is," Bert said, holding the door open.

"Just get out of here! I'll be fine!" she shooed him off. Bert smiled and tipped his hat. And he was gone.

Christina sighed. An entire bar was now under her charge. True, she had been taught by Bert himself on how to run a bar and Samuel and Michael, her fellow musicians, often helped out as payment to Bert for letting them play there. But each time she had help and, to be honest, all three men ended up doing most of the work. _You'll be fine_, she told herself over and over.

Three quarters of an hour passed and all was going magnificently. Most of the crowd in the bar had shown mostly for her, Samuel, and Michael's musical talents, so she was perfectly at ease with her patrons. She chatted animatedly with them, served them drinks, and even pulled out her violin and played a few solo ditties. And it was on one of the solos that a rather large crowd of strange men came barging through the door.

All were oddly dressed and smelt of body odor and rum. They ranged in age and height, but all had the same air to him. They staggered in and took three of the tables toward the back of the room. The other patrons were not surreptitious with their inquisitive stares; the natives of Port Royal were closely linked and knew everyone. And although they were a port city, most could be halting around newcomers, especially ones so strangely decorated that barged into bars in the middle of the night.

Christina too, in the middle of a song, was staring her new customers. She had stopped at the sudden interruption but, at the pleads of the table she was entertaining at the moment, she placed bow to string and began to play a quick, light melody. Her fingers danced merrily over the neck of the violin, her blue-grey eyes sparkling and snapping as the people around her clapped their hands in rhythm. She turned as the newcomers settled into their seat. She gave a little bow toward them and jumped lightly into the air. Doing a little jig, she played the melody again and again, the tempo speeding as she went. Fingers nearly knotted and her bow jerked up and down as she grinned and laughed and continued to play. The patrons began to chant, begging her to continue. Finally, she played the last note and separated bow from violin. Panting slightly, she bowed at the waist, smiled modestly at the applause.

"It sounds much better with Michael and Samuel, I assure you," she called into the ruckus. She laughed again and walked to the bar, where one of the newcomers was waiting.

"You're the barkeep?" his voice nearly sneered as she tended to storing her instrument.

"What's it to you?" she snapped back. "Can't a barkeeper also be a musician? And can't his customer at least attempt some form of pleasantry when speaking to him?" She looked up and stifled a gasp of surprise. It was the man from the docks, the one who had been so rude toward her. Her eyes glinted; she wanted revenge.

"Shouldn't the barkeep be a little less rude to his paying customers?" the man asked.

"Not when said customer treats him in discontent for having other professions besides tending to drinks," she spat back.

"I was merely expressing my shock. I never meant insult," he said.

"Well, that's how it was taken and easily so. What do you want?" she asked.

"Twelve bottles of rum and some birdseed if you have it," the man said as if it were the simplest order in the world. Christina looked at him.

"We don't serve bottles. I can, however, give you twelve drafts. As for the birdseed, you'll want the feed store three doors down," she said, already extracting tall glasses.

"Is it open?" he asked.

"No," she said simply.

Another man from the same party staggered over. He slumped into a stool beside the first and reached out a bejeweled hand. It grasped the neck of the rum bottle. Quickly, he tipped it to his lips. Instinctively, Christina reached out and popped the end of it, making the bottle jab into his teeth and its contents spill and stain the newcomer's shirt and vest. He coughed and spluttered as Christina took back her bottle.

"I think not, _sir_," she sneered at him. To the first, "Was he one that ordered?" The man nodded. "Only a pint for him. He looks like he's already had enough."

"Why the rum? Why is it always the rum that goes?" the newcomer murmured. Just then, two finely dressed women, their faces caked in makeup came trotting up to him. He greeted them with a slur, making each go into giggles. Christina's face contorted. She set down the rum bottle with a clunk.

"No. Absolutely not. They leave now," she commanded, pointing at the two women.

"Why, mate? They're lovely and I paid to have them for the night," the second stated.

"No prostitutes in my bar," Christina seethed.

"But –– " he protested again.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me," Christina growled. She grasped around the underside of the bar and whipped out a long sword. The prostitutes shrieked. "No whores in my bar. Now get them out."

Christina was aware of cold steel on her neck. She focused her gaze on the first man, who now also brandished a sword, the one threatening to slit her throat. "We'll do as we please," he snarled.

"No," Christina ducked under his blade and, stepping back, placed her own inches from his, "you'll obey the rules of my bar or get out."

"Give us our rum and we will," the former retaliated. Christina's eye flitted to the half-finished order. The man with the whores was reaching for the bottle again. She let her left hand fall limp, then contracted it and made a throwing gesture: she had let her dagger slip out of her sleeve and now it pinned the stealer's sleeve to the wooden bar. He examined the hilt carefully, then attempted to remove it with his other hand. Christina smiled as he failed.

The door burst open again and framed a frazzled Matthew. It only took him one look before he was behind the two men, their whores in his grasp. "Just in time, Matt," Christina smiled, more at the demanding man than Matthew.

"Are you all right?" he asked looking at her, the drawn swords, and the struggling pinned man.

"I'll be fine once you get rid of them," she nodded her head to the prostitutes.

"And these two?" he asked. Christina looked slowly at the one still brandishing a sword at her.

"I think I can handle it," she smirked at the man.

"In fact," the pinned one spoke up, "if someone would be so kind to release us, we will take this outside. Men," he barked, turning as far as he could the rest of his party. They stood quickly and stepped over to him.

"Shiver me timbers," a blue and yellow parrot said from a man's shoulder.

"Cotton says you're in quite a bind," an older man with a short beard commented.

"I am, aren't I, birdie? Gibbs, get me out," the pinned one said. The bearded one obeyed and together they managed to wrench out the blade. Shaking his sleeve, the newly released looked again at the handle of the captive blade again. Something seemed to click in his mind. "This yours?" he asked.

"Perhaps," Christina said, noncommittal.

He nodded. Placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, he said, "Now children, lower your toys and lets go kill each other outside like normal…men," he directed the last word to Christina. Slowly, each lowered his weapon. "Good, now, left foot, right foot," he coaxed. Never taking his eyes of the boy, she came out from behind the bar and followed him towards the exit.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Christin…"

"Yes, Matt," she hissed, cutting him off before he could reveal her name. "I'll be back, don't worry." And with that she, the two men, and their entire group exited the bar. They stepped into the abandoned street and Christina found herself and the man from the docks encircled. There was no choice but to fight. She brought her sword back up as he did. They stood watching each other for a few silent moments.

"Whenever you're ready," the other man spoke up. "I've got the girls for the whole night." Christina looked at him; the damned prostitutes were hooked onto his elbows and giggling softly. _Well, I'll give them something to giggle about,_ she thought darkly.

Her dueler had taken advantage of her distraction; Christina only just managed to block his blow before it caught her in the chest. She tossed it off and they began to circle each other, waiting for a break in defense or someone to lunge. She had to admit that he knew his stuff. He was obviously no stranger to the blade. He lunged again and she quickly parried it, thrusting with some attacks of her own. One would gain ground, causing the circle to migrate one way, but it would be soon retaken and then some, causing the circle to migrate the opposite direction. Christina smiled; no doubt most of the bar was watching the fight attentively and she guessed what an odd sight they must be.

On and on the battle raged, but neither her nor her opponent made any successful leeway on the fight. She noted little beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. She herself was tiring way too quickly, the blade becoming a dead weight in her rapidly fatiguing arm. Nevertheless, she kept striking, meeting each of his blows. He was much better than she. Her breaths became more and more labored and her mind began to wonder, her defenses weakening. With one fatal blow, the man managed to knock her sword away and break her stance. Once she had recovered, she found herself again at sword point, the cold steel on her jaw. She let her arm fall to her side, closing her eyes in defeat. The surrounding spectators erupted in cheers for a man named Tristan. The prostitute-armed man clapped her defeater on the back. He leaned in toward the latter's ear, muttering something. Her defeater frowned, looking at the whisperer as if for confirmation. The latter nodded, and both looked at Christina. Suddenly, she felt her hat be knocked back. She turned as it floated innocently to the ground.

Gasps replaced cheers as her long hair tumbled down from its hiding place. Varying remarks on her revealed gender broke out. She glared at the two men. With a sharp cry, she brought her leg up and knocked her defeater's sword from his hands. The prostitutes screamed shrilly as she kicked him down and held her own sword under his chin as he looked up at her from his back, obviously taken aback. She smiled in success, as the crowd became deathly silent. Just then, muffled cheers erupted from behind them. Christina turned and saw a window of bar patrons cheering and clapping. She laughed heartily as she spotted Matthew in the front, clapping as well. Therefore, she was quite unprepared for two sets of strong arms grasping her, bending her arms back so that her sword dropped.

Her opponent was back on his feet with help from the other man "Parlay," she spouted involuntarily. Both were looking at her, the former incredulously and the latter almost eagerly. "Parlay!" she repeated, looking expectantly at them.

"We heard you the first time, love," the older man spoke up. "And what made you think that shouting random words at us would do any good?"

"You're pirates, aren't you?" she said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "No other large group of people in their right minds would be frequenting a bar at night, be dressed in such outlandish clothing, and carry a parrot on their shoulder!"

"Awk! Blast ye scurvy dogs!" the parrot spoke up.

"Cotton says you've got some nerve for a wrench," commented one of the pirates in the circle.

"Birdie's got a point," the older man agreed. "Maybe we're a traveling bunch of merchants in need of refreshment after months at sea? Maybe we enjoy unique clothing? And maybe Mr. Cotton here is a mute and his pet parrot speaks for him!"

"Doubtful," Christina rolled her eyes.

"Show her, Cotton," the man commanded. And the man with the parrot opened his mouth, showing a stub of a tongue. Christina flinched back, her face contorting in disgusted shock. "He has that effect on most. But now I'm wondering where you learned such a strange word and think it has some connection to us supposed pirates."

"It's the Pirate's Code," she said simply. "My father told me that if the one is captured by pirates, once he invokes the right of parlay, he has the right to an audience with the captain. The captor cannot be harmed in any way until this deed is fulfilled."

"And who might your father be to know this bit of trivia?" the older man questioned.

"William Turner," Christina said. Again, gasps and repeats of her father's name flitted around the circle. Her opponent himself expressed disbelief; he seemed to look at Christina in a new light, almost respect. "Obviously this name has some effect on your companions. How are you acquainted with him?" she asked.

The elder ignored her question. "Take her aboard. She has an appointment with the Captain," he said, turning.

"But –– " the man beside him said. The elder flashed him a look.

"Do as I say," he said to Christina's captors. She went without a fight toward the docks.

"So I was right? You lot are pirates?" she questioned. No one answered her, but many were staring openly at her. "Right? I am right, right? Are you all mute or just Parrot-Man? No offense," she added, looking at the parrot. The bird was oddly silent.

The docks loomed in front of them. They continued walking on the boards, numerous footfalls echoing loudly on the midnight waters. She had never visited the docks any other time than daylight. Now that the sun had set, the romance had faded and was replaced by uneasiness. Of course, it didn't help that a dozen men, all more armed than she, flagged her. Finally, they stopped near the dock office. All the men were looking expectantly at the man who had ordered the trek. Christina waited for something to happed. She looked around expectantly.

"Now what? We wait for the captain…? Hold it," she trailed. She had spotted a large ship behind their leader. It dwarfed its surroundings, even her father's Delius. But the true oddity of this ship was its dark sails, more hole than canvas. She gazed at them in disbelief. "There's no way…" she gasped. "No _bloody_…_possible_ way that is…that would make you…but you…._couldn't_ be…" she spluttered, gaping at the man, now on the board leading onto deck. He grinned and bowed at the waist.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service, Miss Turner," he said.

o.O

A/N: ooooh, cliffie!! what's going to happen to Christina? How badly does Tristan want to kill himself now that he was beaten by a girl? What's Will and Elizabeth going to do when they find out what their daughter's been up to. And probably most important...if chickens had lips, would the whistle instead of cluck? hmmm...truly all questions of measure...

Shout-outs!! (yay for loverly reviewers!!)

**Jinxeh**: aaaaa, long review!! I've never gotten one so long...and so helpful!! Thank you soo much! I don't hate you in the least. If anything, it made me realize exactly how much escapes me during my midnight writing sessions! it gave me a chance to throughly edit and I think I corrected all of it...and thanks for the complements!! here's (well, there's) your update!!

**AB Firestar**: ah, I wouldn't go so far...I"m just a lowly writer who uses fanfics to release random plot bunnies and strengthen my skills for original works...but thanks all the same. I continued!!

**actress2bejess**: glad this sounds 'cool' (I like to think so XP) here's more!

**PrincessAmberly**: I'm a fav?! (screams in sheer excitement) WOOT!! glad I'm believable...I try!

like I said, reviews get special recognition...and if I really love you, you get a pretty, pretty dedication (cuz that's all I have...:'( _tear_)


	3. Parlay

A/N: hello again! i am currently procrastinating on the english essay i must turn in tomorrow to bring you yet another installment on my story (majestic fanfare!!). ah, the things i can find to do when avoiding the mundane...

and thankeez to my loverly reviewers (you know who you are) and SHAME on those who haven't sent me a loverly little feed back (you know who you are too!)

Disclaimer: Christina is mine. Tristan is mine. Random persons on sidelines who only get glancing remarks are mine. Yes, my credits are few and far between...

o.O

Ch. 3: Parlay

Moments later, Christina found herself escorted down below. Still stunned at seeing her childhood idol, she didn't fight. However, the clang of the closing cage door behind her did wonders for her reaction.

"What the bloody hell?" she screamed at the retreating pirates. "You can't do this! I invoked parlay! I demand to see Jack this instant!"

"He has more important duties at the moment than to grant you your audience," one of them said before a candle, which had been the sole source of light, was extinguished.

She screamed in frustration and threw herself against the door of her cage-like cell. It didn't budge but the impact hurt like hell. She slumped down, turning to face the ship's side. She crossed her arms in a huff. In one turbulent night, she had run an entire bar by her lonesome, held her own in an argument with two pirates, and dueled and defeated one. But after all this, none had the decency to grant her one little demand.

"Bloody pirates," she muttered darkly.

o.O

"So she does exist…that's very interesting."

Jack was at a very messy writing desk, the surface littered with parchment, maps, and various instruments of measuring and writing. But none of these were what captivated his attention. He was twiddling Christina's dagger between his forefingers, mulling it over as the orange flicker of the lantern made the blade shine.

"Ow," Jack muttered. The point of the dagger had pricked one of his fingers and was now bearing a growing droplet of crimson blood. He stuck it in his mouth. "Bugger," he muttered through it.

A knock was heard on the door. Jack spun around, finger still in his mouth, to see Tristan. The latter looked at his father curiously. "You okay?" he asked.

"Never been better," Jack said brightly. "Oh, this?" he asked, removing his now saliva-ridden finger and brandishing it at Tristan. "Just a small cut." He wrapped it in a small bit of cloth he extracted from his pocket. "Why, what's eatin' ya?"

Tristan sat down on a nearby box, _probably of rum_, he thought. "I heard someone scream down below. Did you put Christina down in the brig?" he asked.

Jack smiled. "Ah, the girl who managed to defeat you," he commented, ignoring the latter half of his question.

"It wasn't a fair fight," Tristan justified himself. "She attacked after she surrendered. I should have won."

"Ah, but she didn't verbally announce the fight over," Jack smiled. "Very sneaky, very…pirate-y." Tristan looked at his father; the same glint was in his eyes again. Tristan felt a pang in his heart; the Turner girl confused everyone, including him. "What do you make of her?" he heard Jack speak up.

Tristan thought, trying to describe the enigma. "She contradicts every thing she ought to have become. With that bringing, she should be a lady, content to sit at home, stitching and providing for her family. Maybe even married," he added as an after thought. "But instead she's in a bar, dressed as a man and picking fights with pirates."

Jack leaned back, the dagger still in hand. "Very interesting…" he mulled. They were silent for a while. "I think I might take Miss Turner up on her request of 'parlay' now," he finally said. "If you would be so kind as to fetch her from the brig…"

"So you did put her down there?" Tristan looked at Jack in shock. Jack smiled.

"She needed to calm down," he said simply.

o.O

_Twang!_

"For calling me _child_…"

_Twang!_

"For trying to steal my _rum_…"

_Twang!_

"For challenging me to a _duel_…"

_Twang!_

"For locking me in this _hellhole_…"

_Twang!_

Christina had retrieved her other dagger on her ankle and was tossing it repeatedly into the ship's wood, cursing the pirates under her breath. She grabbed the blade again and turned it over and over in her palm, trying to figure something else she could gripe about.

"For – bloody hell, are you trying to blind me?!" she screamed the last bit as a lantern near her head was suddenly lit. She writhed as she scrubbed her closed eyes, trying to recover from the sudden influx in light.

"Sorry," a now familiar voice apologized. She managed to wrench her eyes open to glare at the pirate who she had dueled.

"What are you doing here? Looking for a rematch?" she grumbled, turning back around.

"Perhaps a fair one," he mumbled.

"That was a fair fight. I never surrendered, I just…momentarily paused so you would think you won." Christina shrugged. "Seems to have worked."

He seemed to ignore that comment. "The Captain would like to see you, now."

"Too damn bad," she muttered. _Twang!_ went her dagger again, making the pirate jump slightly. "You may tell him that I have more important duties at the moment than to grant him his audience," she spat, mimicking the ones who had left her here.

"Like throwing daggers at his ship?" he asked.

She frowned; he seemed almost amused by her. "You're an odd one," she said to him. "What's your name?"

"Why should I tell you?" he rebutted.

"A number of reasons. One, you know mine. Two, I beat you in fair combat. And three, I'm not doing anything tell you do," she said, retrieving her dagger. "And four, I might be tempted to find some new target for practice." She grinned at him. "So you probably don't want to stay on my bad side."

He laughed at that. "Tristan Sparrow," he said.

"That explains it," she said. "Alright _Tristan_, get me out."

Tristan obliged and her door swung open. She stepped out and looked around. He watched her. She didn't budge. "After you," he prompted.

She looked at him. "I don't know where we're going," she scoffed.

"Right, then…follow me," Tristan said. Christina followed him up to the deck, rolling her eyes.

o.O

"Where's the docks?" was the first thing Christina said when she and Tristan were on the deck. She ran to the edge and leaned over it quite far. She could just make out Port Royal in the distance, now reduced to toy-size. She felt hands grasp at her middle. She spun around and saw Jack's grinning figure. She straightened and pushed him away. "I demand you take me back this instant!" she shrieked.

"Sorry, love, no can do," he flashed his teeth again. "We're on a tight schedule and don't have time for frivolous trips. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Take me _back_!" she screamed. She went to attack him, but Tristan and the bearded pirate called Gibbs held her back. "Get _off _me! I will kill you all!" she snapped hysterically.

"Apparently you haven't calmed," Jack muttered to himself. "I already answered that demand," he said to her as she struggled to get at him. "While you think, I have a few questions for you. Would you mind putting her in my cabin?" he said to Tristan and Gibbs.

Christina found herself being dragged away for the third time that night. "Let go of me! I don't want to go! Cast me into the ocean for all I care! I will…not…go!" she screamed, trying to dig her heels into the boards. Nothing deterred the pirates from their orders. She soon found herself tossed in Jack's room and the door locked from the outside. She banged on the door, demanding her freedom. Irate, she flung her dagger at the door, where it stuck soundly. She turned around and saw her other dagger on the writing desk. She slipped it back in her sleeve. If she was going to meet with pirates, she might as well be properly armed. She began searching the room.

o.O

Moments later, the door swung open and Jack and Tristan stepped in. Christina wasn't visible. Jack turned to Tristan.

"You said she was here," he said.

"I swear Gibbs and I took her here and locked the door. She couldn't have possibly –– "

"Possibly what, Sparrow?" Christina said. She brandished a sword in each hand, looking angrily at the men. Jack chuckled.

"I'd like to see you try to wield both of those," he said amused.

"Don't underestimate me, Sparrow. Your son did that and look where it got him," she sneered at Tristan. "On his back, beaten by a _lady_."

"Captain, please. _Captain _Sparrow," Jack begged. "So you two have made with the pleasantries. Good, that'll make this faster. Now, if you will kindly disarm yourself, Miss Turner…"

"I think not," she cut in. "You broke the Pirate Code, ignoring my right of parlay, locked me in a cage, and had the nerve to sail away from my home without even consulting me! I think I'll call a few shots of my own now."

"The Code's really more…guidelines," he told her. "And as long as you're on my ship, you'll follow my orders, Miss Turner. And I order you to drop my swords or suffer the consequences." He grinned at her hesitation. "You are in a room with two men stronger and better armed than you and your only path of escape is blocked. The crew will ignore any screams unless I order them differently. You are in no position to barter. For your well-being, I suggest you do what I say."

Christina glared between them, her swords quivering with anxiety. Finally, she threw them down on the bed. "Bloody pirates," she mumbled darkly.

"Thank ye, love," Jack bowed. "If you would sit," he patted the quilt on his bed. She glared at him and remained standing. "Now, now, love, none of that. Remember what I said…?" Christina scowled and flopped down, crossing her arms deftly across her chest. Jack smiled and took a seat at his desk. Tristan made to sit beside Christina, but with one foul glare from the latter, he chose his old box.

"Now then, I see you got my gift," Jack opened.

"What gift?" Christina spat. She was still quite on edge.

"Your daggers. One of which I see is protruding from my door. Tristan, if you will fetch that for Miss Turner?" he said lazily. Tristan stood and crossed.

"Those really were from you?" Christina murmured, her hostility melting slightly. Jack gave a toothy grin.

"Yes, love. Did Will not tell you about our meeting?"

"He did."

"And you did not believe him?" Jack said. He took Christina's dagger from Tristan. He examined it under the candlelight. "Shame…" he trailed.

Christina watched him, pained. "May I please have my dagger back, Captain?" she asked in perfect pleasantry. Jack grinned at her sudden change in attitude.

"Much better, love. But not right now for I know you have the other on you right now." Silence fell over the room before Jack continued. "What all did your father tell you about his visit with me?"

"Not much. My mother fears that too much information about his pirate adventures will provoke me to run off to sea," Christina said.

Jack laughed. "Just like Elizabeth," he said. "Instead you dress like men, tend bars, and have a rather off-putting, un-ladylike attitude…"

"Well, when you lump it all together like that…"

"So you are saying I have misjudged you?" Jack asked.

"I'm saying perhaps you should not form such quick judgments of me. People aren't as black and white as you paint them, Mr. Sparrow," Christina retorted.

"I am dying to hear your explanation for such a wise statement." Jack leaned back in his chair.

Christina sighed. "Yes, I have qualities one finds unusual in a girl my age and status. But when it comes right down to it, I can be what I choose. If it tickles my fancy, I can be the perfect picture of domesticity. But pardon me if there are moments when I find such a sphere constricting and confining. Pardon me for having curiosity for the world outside my designated own. Pardon me for wanting to be something other than the role assigned to my type."

A silence broke over the room as the last of her venting dissipated. It wasn't awkward, only slightly disbelieving. Christina was looked unabashed at Jack, a queer fire in her ocean eyes. Tristan was gaping slightly at Christina's outbreak though said nothing. Jack gave a toothy grin; Christina's emotion seemed to have pleased him.

"You are perfectly pardoned to all you have mentioned," he said standing. "And I hope you will pardon me if I keep you aboard for a brief while."

"What?!" Christina stood indignant.

"I am giving you an opportunity to…ah, what was it, explore your 'curiosity for the world outside your designated own.' I especially enjoyed that statement.

"I refuse to acquiesce to this!" She stamped her foot. "This is my parlay? You decide my request for me?"

"You have made your request quite clear, Miss Turner. You wish to return to Port Royal. And I have granted you your request."

"You did no such thing!" Christina hissed. Jack smiled and stood

"I did so," he whispered. "It will simply take a bit…longer than you anticipated." He dipped his neck down so that his face was inches from hers. She stepped back, a sneer of disgust befouling her lips. Jack gave another grin. "Contrary to popular belief, a pirate's life is not all rum and merriment."

"Though that seems to be the majority of it at times," Tristan muttered under his breath. Christina turned; it was the first time she had heard him speak during the meeting. He looked up at her, raised his eyebrows in a sort of query, and nodded at her. Christina turned back to Jack, who pointed at his son.

"Right you are, but the point is, I'm a busy man, with lots of busy-like business to tend to. I cannot turn round when a lady so fancies. Even one as gorgeous as yourself," he added, giving a slight bow to Christina. She huffed and looked away.

"Are you done?" she snapped unnecessarily sharp. "I get it. I'm not going home. You're not gentlemanly to grant a lady one simple wish…"

"Pirate," Jack shrugged. "There's the door. You know the way. Sweet dreams." And with that, Jack sauntered over to his bed and flopped down, his eyes closed before his body hit the mattress.

Christina stared at him. "And where exactly am I supposed to sleep?" she asked. "I don't suppose there is a second bed around here."

"You suppose correctly," Jack said. He opened his eyes to give her a coy look. "Although, you could always share mine…"

"Nothing in hell could convince me to do such an act," she spat.

Jack heaved a sigh. "Very well. Tristan, go fix her a hammock somewhere." He waved his hand inconspicuously before snores erupted, signaling Jack's immediate unconsciousness.

"Right," Tristan stood. "C'mon," he said, opening the door. Christina snatched her second dagger and made to walk out the door. Tristan went first. She barely jumped out of the way as the door slammed shut in her face. She stared at it, fuming at the impoliteness of some boys. She wrenched the knob and flung it open. This would be a long voyage.

o.O

"Where are you taking me?"

Christina had finally found Tristan in a small closet, rummaging through boxes. She was leaned on the door jamb, supervising his work.

"Gonna build you a hammock in the crew's quarters."

"Hell no."

The sudden curse made Tristan start. He stopped and looked at her. Her arms were crossed and her head faced toward him, a look of sarcastic taunting in her eyes, daring him to send her off the edge.

"I am not sleeping in a room filled with men," she continued.

"You seem quite content to masquerade as one," Tristan said, returning to his search.

"That's completely different and you know it. Try again," she said as she turned her head away. Tristan rolled his eyes and chose not to speak. A comfortable silence fell over them. Then Christina's voice, now void of its previous bite, spoke softly. "How long is your father going to keep me aboard?"

Tristan looked up. Christina was looking on deck at the moon shining over the gently rippling water. "No idea. Could be two weeks, could be two years," he said honestly, pulling out a piece of linen and some rope. Christina turned to him, a look of horror on her face.

"Years?!" she whispered. All her bravado was gone.

"Yeah. It all depends," he said as he walked past her.

"Depends on what?" she asked from behind. He turned. She had been dogging his steps, her face white and worried.

"Different things," Tristan shrugged.

"Could you be more vague?" she muttered under her breath. Tristan heard her and grinned as he opened a door. "What's this?"

"You said you didn't want to sleep with the crew so you can sleep down below," he said, lifting a trapdoor in the closet floor. He let the cloth and rope down and started down the latter. Christina hesitated, then followed. By the time her shaking knees hit the ground, Tristan had already connected the cloth to the rope and was securing one end around an arched beam. Christina watched him work again. Once he was done, she shoved him aside with a nonchalant thanks. "You need help getting in?" he asked.

Christina threw him a look. "I think I can tuck myself in, thanks," she sneered. Tristan turned to leave. "Um…well…" her strained voice made him turn, his foot already on the lowest rung. He stifled a laugh.

The hammock had flipped completely over. Christina had not screamed or made a single sound of fright. But now she hung upside down, her arms and legs clasped for dear life around the hammock. She craned her neck to look at the bemused Tristan.

"Not a word," she seethed. "Just bloody get me down."

Tristan obliged, letting her fall into his outstretched arms. For the fleeting second he held her, he felt a wave of emotion wash over him. Whether it was from repressed laughter or budding interest, there was not time to figure; she was back on her feet and fixing her bed. He showed her how to get in properly, without hanging like a sloth, and that was that. There was no good night, no wishes of pleasant dreams. Tristan left Christina to sleep in relative peace.

o.O

"She _what_?!"

A peeved Elizabeth was glaring at a distraught Matthew. The latter had rushed to the Turner household to tell the whereabouts of their daughter.

"I-I am sorry, Mrs. Turner. I ran to the docks after them, but the ship was too far gone by the time I reached them," Matthew stuttered, his hat in his hands and his eyes on the floorboards.

Elizabeth flew to Will, who was pacing and cursing silently in a corner. "You! You drove her to this!" she accused. "You insisted on telling her the stories! You insisted on teaching her blades!"

"I had no idea it had gotten this out of hand!" Will defended himself. He turned to Matthew. "How long did you say she had been playing at the pub?"

"About a month and a half, thrice weekly," Matthew mumbled. "But this was the first she tended bar."

"A month and a half, Will!" Elizabeth exclaimed, falling back into a nearby chair.

"Tomorrow morning, I fancy I will have a talk with that so-called man Bert and his allowing my daughter to knowingly be in such foul company so often," Will fumed.

"And Christina? She could be God knows where, doing God knows what with Jack!" Elizabeth snapped. "Oh, my poor baby…"

"I will find her," Will said, cupping Elizabeth's tear-stricken chin in his hand. "Believe me darling. I will find her."

o.O

A/N: hmm...will revise when mind is slightly less capacitated and preoccupied...

i'm trying to make Christina calm down slightly...not to 'help-me-i'm-a-helpless-little-girl' status, but a little less 'bwa-ha-ha-i'm-invincible'. Trust me, her act will die down once she's slightly more comfortable...she's not always going to be this in-your-face

and with this, i bid you all adieu...and review, my loverlies!!


	4. PLEASE READ! QUICK NOTE!

So yeah.

um, i realize it's been FOREVER since i've updated. sorry. i bet a lot of people have just stopped reading it. i do want to finish the story. however, i might pull it (and all the rest of my stories) and just take some time to revamp them all and get further into the stories then repost them.

thoughts? bad? good? thank GOD?

is anyone going to be heartbroken if this story disappears? cause if no one says anything within the week, i'll see you in roughly a year.

please let me know,

toodles,

alenya121


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